


It Happened One Night

by romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Steve Rogers, Gift Fic, M/M, Modeling, Modern Bucky Barnes, Modern Steve Rogers, Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Photography, Stranger Sex, Weddings, romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Steve and Bucky meet. And have sex. And don't see each other again.Until Steve needs a favor, and Bucky's happy to oblige.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 308





	It Happened One Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaltyCalm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyCalm/gifts).



> This absolute ridiculousness is for [SaltyCalm](https://t.co/TxSwSEHPwV?amp=1) to speed recovery along and also for birthday wishes. Unbetaed. I cannot vouch that it makes any sense or is cohesive at all. But I hope you like it!
> 
> There is a distinct possibility that I will decide I don't like the way the two parts mesh together, and either cut off the second part or rework it entirely. I don't know. It's very much might be a complete mess. :)
> 
> I should also add I know nothing about the romance novel industry, the romance novel cover industry, or any other related industry. Please take nothing in this fic to be right or true.

Steve sits at the back of the room, stabbing his bland chicken with his fork. He has been known to, in the span of his lifetime, make mistakes. As Natasha constantly reminds him. Usually when he fucks up.

He has severely fucked up.

He stabs the broccoli, just for variety, as he looks up and onto the dance floor. The scene hasn’t changed much. Sean is still dancing with his bride, beaming as he looks down at her, dancing to some sappy love song. If it wouldn’t bring attention to himself, Steve would be sick.

“Dare I ask what that broccoli’s done to you?”

“You can ask.” Steve doesn’t look up as the guy belonging to the voice slides into the seat next to him. The rest of the people at Steve’s table are applauding the happy couple. He stabs the broccoli one more time, spearing it, then putting it on top of the chicken so that they can suffer together.

“Now the chicken, I understand. It tastes like the inside of a shoe, but the broccoli was okay, assuming you like lemon sauce. Which I’m guessing you don’t.”

Steve sighs at what apparently is a distinct inability to take a hint and raises his eyes to look at the guy. That might be his second fuck up of the day. This guy is drop dead gorgeous. His suit looks tailored, not off the rack like Steve’s. He’s got long brown hair that’s pulled back, strands tucked behind his ears. HIs body reminds Steve of the statues you see in museums.

His mouth is a lush pink that can’t be duplicated by acrylics or oils, his face has the amount of stubble that makes him look roguish rather than like he’s trying to grow a beard or forgot to shave. And his eyes are a piercing gray-blue, changing the more Steve looks at him. 

“I’m. Uh. Allergic. To lemons.”

“Oh, well then. By all means, show that broccoli who’s boss.” He gestures to the plate. Steve looks down at it, down at himself, then back at the guy. 

“Did Sean send you over here?”

“Sean? Oh, the groom?” He nods toward the couple. “I’m a police officer. Caitlin is my partner. Why?”

“No reason.”

“I take it you’re on the groom’s side. Or, at least here because of the groom?”

Steve snorts. “Something like that.”

“Fair enough. So, what do you do?”

“Huh? Oh. I’m an artist. I design covers for romance novels.” There’s a long, heavy pause and Steve smirks, turning to look at the guy, waiting for his reaction. Instead of mocking, the guy looks… Something. Something else.

“You wouldn’t want to get out of here, would you?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He smiles, and fuck, Steve can’t tell if he likes the guy’s chin dimple or his laugh lines at his eyes more. “You and me. Get out of here. I mean, unless you’re opposed to that sort of thing.”

“What thing?” Steve’s voice breaks.

The guy puts his hand on the back of Steve’s chair and leans in, dropping his voice in a way that makes Steve want to drop his pants. Or drop to his knees. He’s not picky. “The thing where you and I leave the ballroom and go upstairs to my hotel room. The thing where I strip you out of that suit and wreck you.”

“M-me?” He squeaks. Steve gestures at himself. He knows what he looks like - all five foot-four and hundred and twenty pounds of him. He knows his suit is slightly wrinkled and an unflattering color. He knows his glasses don’t quite fit on his face. “You’re not blind or anything, right?”

“Generally don’t have blind police officers.” He leans in even closer, arm all the way around the back of the chair. “And if that’s some self-deprecating way to ask me if I see you, the answer’s yes.”

There’s a long silence where Steve stares at the guy, close enough that he can taste his breath. Too close. Letting out a shaky breath, Steve has to look away before he loses what little cool he has left.

“You haven’t answered me.”

“I forgot the question?”

“Are you opposed? To that sort of thing.”

“N-” Steve clears his throat, trying to get his voice back to normal. “No.”

“You want to say goodbye to the bride and groom?”

“No.”

“Good.” He stands up and offers Steve his hand. “Let’s go.”

**

They’re barely in the room when the guy grips Steve’s shoulders, turns him around, grabs him by the underarms and holds him against the wall. Steve’s really glad he’s being held, because he’s pretty sure his brain just went offline and he no longer has the use of his legs. That perfect pink mouth finds Steve’s, rough and demanding. Steeve knows his body must be responding to some part of his brain because his legs and arms end up around the guy, and he’s no longer against the wall so much as being held. 

“Oh god,” Steve groans into the guy’s mouth. “More.”

The kiss gets somehow deeper, the guy’s tongue fucking into Steve’s mouth like he owns it. It’s rough but not bruising, hot and damp and hungry. Steve tightens his legs around the guy’s waist and tries to get closer. The guy breaks off the kiss and Steve whines, breaking off when his mouth moves from Steve’s lips to his jaw, to his throat.

“Name. God, do you have a name?” Steve’s panting and squirming in the guy’s arms, back arching as he sucks and licks Steve’s skin. 

He kisses his way up to Steve’s earlobe and bites it. “Buck,” he growls. “Rhymes with fuck.”

“St-st- _ohfuck_ -eve.” He nuzzles the hollow behind Steve’s ear then scrapes Steve’s throat with his teeth before pulling the skin into his mouth and sucking on it again. “Oh god.”

Buck starts walking and stops at the edge of the bed, dropping Steve down onto his back. Steve stares up at him, nearly swallowing his tongue when the guy undoes his tie, hips moving to some internal music. 

“”You look good right there. Debauched and hard and waiting.” He slips his tie off and tosses it aside, followed by his jacket. He starts unbuttoning his shirt and Steve keeps licking his lips, hungry for every inch of exposed skin. “What are you going to let me do to you, hmm?”

“Please.” He finishes with the shirt, but leaves it on, undoing his belt and stepping out of his slacks, underwear, shoes and socks. “Anything.”

He climbs onto the bed and straddles Steve, tugging at his tie before he reaches up, curls his finger over the knot and slowly slides it down. The rest of it is a blur, even though Buck goes slow. His hands move over Steve, strip him slowly, piece by piece. 

He stands up to pull off Steve’s slacks and briefs, catching his socks and shoes so they thump onto the floor as well. Goosebumps rise on Steve’s skin, and he knows there’s a hot blush on his skin from Buck’s scrutiny. He moves his hands, starts to cover himself.

“Stop.” Steve freezes, except for his nipples hardening and his dick jerking at the sharp tone. “Don’t hide yourself. Look at you.” Buck takes Steve by the ankle and lifts his leg, Steve squirms slightly, feeling even more exposed. He brushes a soft kiss against the arch of Steve’s foot. “Beautiful.”

“I’m not - “

This time he kisses Steve’s ankle bone then scrapes his teeth against it. “You are.” 

Steve starts to say something else, but gets distracted by the line of kisses that go up his calf to the underside of his knee, the flick of Bucky’s tongue there that makes him squirm. “O-oh.”

He moves up Steve’s inner thigh, sucking and leaving sharp indents of his teeth. Steve can’t help the upward roll of his hips, the low whines coming high in his throat. When he reaches the top of Steve’s thigh, Steve arches up, but then Buck is gone, moved down to the end of the bed to give the same treatment to Steve’s other leg.

By the time he reaches the top of Steve’s thigh, Steve’s cock is leaking, dripping down onto his stomach, a long string of it going from the tip to the pool below his navel. Buck leans in and uses his tongue to break the string and Steve jerks like Buck had taken Steve’s cock in his mouth. 

Instead he ignores it, nipping at Steve’s pelvis, the slight curve of his lower belly, the sharp delineation of his ribs. Buck’s mouth is everywhere, working Steve over ruthlessly. Steve knows he’s making noise, but all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.

Buck’s hands slide under Steve’s back, arching him off the mattress as he kisses along his sternum, starting at the bottom and working his way up to scrape his teeth over Steve’s collarbones, such at the hollow of his throat, bite his way from Steve’s shoulder to his neck. 

“Taste as good as I thought you would,” Buck groans into Steve’s ear. Steve shivers and Buck laughs, low and throaty. “I’m gonna taste you now.”

“I - “ Steve gasps as Buck pulls back and manhandles Steve onto his hands and knees. He doesn’t hesitate to spread Steve’s ass, and Steve’s not sure which one of them actually groans, or if it’s both.

“Fuck,” Buck whispers against Steve’s skin, his mouth closing over Steve’s hole. Steve whimpers and drops his head to the mattress, breathing harder, even though Buck has just started.

His tongue licks and teases, flat against Steve as he licks, pointed as he teases, rubbing over the furled muscle, pushing inside it. Buck makes hungry noises as he wraps his hands around Steve’s thighs, pulling him back against his mouth. Without hands spreading his ass, everything feels hotter, humid, more intense. Steve feels his cock leaking, and then one of Buck’s hnds is on his cock, thumb pressed over the slit, and getting coated with precome.

Steve’s body shudders and he whimpers when Buck pulls his hand away, again with the thumb slides in with Buck’s tongue, and he’s tasting Steve and his come at once. “Oh, f-fuck.” 

“TAste so good,” Bucky puts his hands around Steve’s thighs again, his groan buried inside Steve. Steve’s arms give out, and his chest hits the bed, and his arms splay out. “Oh, fuck, yeah. Look at you.” 

The position changes the angle of Buck’s mouth, and suddenly his thumb and tongue are relentles, stretching Steve, fucking into him. Saliva runs over Steve’s skin, wet and cooling as it slides down to his balls. Buck is moaning, wrapping his arms tighter around Steve’s thighs, his hips as he takes advantage of Steve’s size to reach around and open him up again. 

Steve can barely breathe, gasping as Buck shifts his grip again, and then his tongue and thumb are joined by a finger. It burns just enough and Steve feels like he’s going to collapse from it, like he’s right on the edge of his orgasm, even though it feels far away. 

He’s begging, can hear the high ‘oh god, oh please, please, please’ somewhere distant, out of his head. Buck thrusts his fingers shallowly, not enough to completely penetrate, and then he’s gone. Steve cries out, hollowed and bereft, and then Bucky’s body is on top of his, covering him. 

“It’s okay. I got you. Gonna fill you up. Hang on, Steve. Gonna make you feel so good, feel so much better.”

Through the haze of need, the overwhelming desire to have Buck inside him, Steve can hear but not process a crinkle, a click, the sound of skin on skin. And then warm gel and warmer fingers are inside Steve, shallow for a few strokes, and then deeper. Steve’s head and upper torso lift off the mattress as his back arches, and he falls back with a low moan as Buck’s other hand wraps around his cock, tight at the base. 

The hand on his cock stays motionless, squeezing until all Steve can focus on is pressure, the burn, the pleasure. He’s pretty sure only the thought of losing the feeling is keeping him breathing, not wanting to miss a second keeping him conscious.

Too soon he feels hollow again and he tries to rut against Buck’s grip, but then he feels the blunt end of Buck’s cock against him, the slow push of penetration. Steve’s muscles tighten as he groans, desperate, then he relaxes, letting Buck slide in.

Pleasure floods through him, feeling bottled up at the base of his cock where Buck’s hand is tight around it. Everything focuses on the two points, the tight grip and the shock of too much as Buck finds Steve’s prostate. 

He’s begging again, gasping Buck’s name over and over, the sound punched out of him with every thrust. He feels like an explosion waiting to happen, waiting for the spark to ignite it. He feels it building and building and stealing his breath and his brain, consuming him from the inside out. Then Buck’s hand releases the pressure and starts to move over the length of Steve’s cock.

Steve comes, slumping down on the bed. Buck adjusts his position, moving with him, still thrusting.. “Fuck, STeve.” Buck’s breathless, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck, yes. Oh, fuck yes.” 

Buck stills then thrusts in depper, holding himself inside Steve. Everything pulses, and Steve’s heartbeat seems to fall into rhythm with Buck’s as he slumps down on top of Steve’s back. He stays there almost too long then eases out, rolling away to deal with the condom. Stevfe doesn’t move, isn’t sure he’s capable of it.

He shivers as he suddenly feels the air conditioning of the room against his skin, goosebumps rising all over him. Then suddenly Buck’s back in his space, turning Steve and pulling him into his arms, fingers combing through Steve’s sweat-soaked hair. Their breathing stays in rhythm as their heartbeats slow, and Steve closes his eyes. 

The last thing he remembers is the brush of lips against his head.

**

He wakes up alone, buried in the covers. Sitting up, he rubs his face and looks around for his glasses. He doesn’t remember taking them off, but he must have because they’re on the bedside table. He sits up to grab them and he groans. He feels well-fucked and itchy from where his come has dried on his stomach. 

He foregoes his glasses to slump back down on the bed. He stares at the ceiling, blurry and lined with the hint of sun through the blinds. He’s not surprised that Buck is gone. Nothing about last night said it was anything more than it was. Two people who were attracted to each other, or desperately horny, fucking, taking pleasure from each other. He still feels slightly disappointed, but that’s one-hundred percent on him.

“All right, Rogers. Get your ass out of bed, get dressed, do the suit walk of shame. No. Shower _then_ do the suit walk of shame, and go home. Sleep all day, and remember that getting fucked by the most handsome guy at the wedding is really kind of great revenge on your asshole ex-boyfriend. Feel good about yourself.”

He does what he says, stopping at the dresser where his phone is sitting out. He _knows_ he didn’t do that. There’s a note on the hotel pad and he scans it then actually reads it. 

_texted myself so you have my number. I’ll get in touch.. Thanks for last night. And set up a goddamned password on your phone_

The shower feels even better than Steve expected it to.

**

“We have a problem.”

Steve looks up at Natasha, blinking and shaking his head to focus. He immediately exhales and puts his head in his hands. “What now?”

“Richard just quit.”

“Good. Richard was a dick, and we both hated him.”

“Yes. He was. And normally I would say good riddance.”

Steve looks up at her and instantly regrets it. “But?”

“He’s our model for the Andrews cover.”

“I can draw him from memory. He’s posed enough times.”

“Except.” Natasha draws the word out, obviously waiting for Steve to figure it out. 

“Except?” Steve’s brow furrows. “Ah. Oh. The contract.”

“Exactly.” She sits on the edge of his desk and her shoulders slump slightly. “The contract.”

Steve sighs and puts his head back in his hands. “You know, this is seriously putting a dent in my resolve to stop drinking.”

When Stevce looks through his fingers, one of Natasha’s eyebrows is up in a high curve. “We went out for beers last night.”

“Okay, my resolve to resolve to stop drinking.” He exhales heavily again and leans back in the chair. “Okay. So when you say Andrews, you mean - “

“Amelia Andrews.”

“Who is also a dick.”

“But a profitable one. A profitable _peculiar_ one.”

“Shit.”

“Yes. So you can see how this is a problem. Unless you happen to know a six-foot, bulked-out brunette with pecs.”

“Uh.”

This time both of Natasha’s eyebrows went up. “Steven? Is there something you need to share with the class?”

“Well, remember the wedding last month that you refused to go to with me?”

“You mean your ex-boyfriend’s wedding? The one he invited you to out of spite? The one you went to because you are a glutton for punishment? That one?”

“I met a guy.”

“Met.” Natasha’s tone is flat, and then she smiles like a cat that got the cream. “Met or met-met?”

“Well…”

Natasha crosses her arms and her eyes narrow. “And why am I just hearing about this? Now? A month after the fact?”

“It was. It was just a thing. A kinda tipsy, K hadn’t been laid in almost a year and he could probably sense my desperation and took pity on me thing.”

Natasha leans forward and flicks Steve in the middle of the forehead.

“Ow!”’

Her voice is bordering on angry. “What have I told you?”

“Fine. It was a we were both tipsy and horny thing.”

“But?” When Steve didn’t answer, she smiled again. “But you got his number.”

Steve takes a deep breath, holds it, then slowly lets it out. “Yes.”

“And?”

He shrugs. “And nothing. He hasn’t texted me since then.”

“And you haven’t texted him?”

“He was gone before I woke up, Nat. And, despite popular belief, I can take a hint.”

“You have never taken a hint in your life.” She rubs her eyes with her thumb and finger. “So. Why are you bringing this up then?”

“He knows what I do. He could, I mean. He could be our next model. He’s perfect for it, actually. And, I mean, we need this account, right? And we’re sort of desperate. And, also despite popular belief, I can swallow my pride to keep us solvent. And eating.”

“Okay. Okay.” She thinks for a minute and then nails him with a glance. “Two conditions.” She holds up one finger. “If he’s a jerk to you or huts you in any way, I reserve the right to kick him out, my stiletto so deep up his ass, he’ll be glad he’s a top or he’d never be having sex again.”

“I regret telling you anything about my sex-life. But, okay. And the second?”

“If you use him to make yourself feel bad, it’ll be your ass I kick. And you never will have sex again.”

Steve glances at his phone, thinks about the agency bank account, and nods. “Okay.”

Natasha reaches out and catches his chin, forcing him to look at her. Her voice is soft, but he knows that she means it more than if she were yelling at him. “I’m not joking, Steve.”

“I know. Conditions accepted.” He holds out his hand. 

She grasps it and shakes it once. “So call him. We need him this afternoon.”

“I can just text.”

“No.” She stands up and crosses her arms. “Call him. If you’re doing this, you gird your loins or adjust your balls or whatever, and you call him.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” She stands there, waiting. 

Finally Steve sighs and picks up the phone. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

She raises both eyebrows again and Steve sighs, scrolls to Buck’s name and pushes dial. It rings and rings and rings, and Steve starts to slump in relief when he hears, “Barnes.”

“Oh. Uh. Buck?”

“Buck? Oh. Holy shit. Uh, yeah. Buck. That’s me.”

“I know you probably don’t remember me.” Natasha slaps him upside the head. “Ow. Ow. OKay. Okay, Jesus. I’m. It’s me. Steve. From, uh, Kay? Caitlin! Caitlin and Jack’s wedding?”

“Yeah. The pretty blond thing. I remember you.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me. I guess. Yeah. Anyway, you probably don’t remember that I’m a painter? I do romance novel covers.”

“I vaguely remember you saying that. Maybe. Something artist. I was mostly thinking about how I was going to get you upstairs, I gotta be honest.”

“Okay. Well. Sure. Um. Right. So.” He glances at Natasha, and he’s pretty sure she can hear the entire conversation, and he knows his face is blood red. “I was wondering, if you’re free this afternoon, if you might want to. Well. MOdel?”

“We haven’t seen or heard from each other in over a month, and you want me to model for you.” He sounds incredulous. “That’s why you’re calling me?”

“You haven’t gotten in touch with me either!”

He could hear Buck sigh. “Right. Okay. When?”

“You’ll do it?”

“Where and when, Steve?”

Natasha takes the phone from him. “Hi, Natasha Romanoff, Steve’s partner. Business partner. Two o’clock at 1785 West Harding Street. Wear jeans, but give me your measurements.” She gestures at Steve for a sticky note and writes down whatever Buck says. “Great. See you then.”

She hangs up and hands the phone back to Steve. “I don’t like you anymore.” 

She pats his head. “You say that at least once a week. Now, get set up, go to lunch, and,” she pauses and looks down at the note in her hand, “brace yourself for Amelia to drool all over your boy.”

“He’s not my boy!”

“Man?”

He tosses a pencil at her, annoyed when she catches it. “I hate you. For real this time.”

** 

Steve concentrates intently on the items on his table as he hears Natasha open the door. Her tone is cool and professional as she ushers Buck inside the light room. He glances around then his gaze finally settles on Steve. “Hi.”

“Hey, Buck.”

“E.”

“What?”

“Bucky.”

“:Bucky?”

“Yeah. Call me Bucky. Not Buck.”

“You said Buck.” 

“I really didn’t want to say ‘call me Bucky’ in the heat of the moment. Tends to spoil the mood the first time.”

“I guess ‘Buck, rhymes with fuck’ sounds a lot better than ‘Bucky, rhymes with fuckee’. Especially since you’re not. The fuckee. Wow. This got unprofessional fast.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah. That it did. Anyway. Hi. Good to see you again.”

“You too.” Steve doesn’t ask him where he’s been the past month. He doesn’t have any right to, especially since Bucky could easily ask him the same.He clears his throat. “So, The way this works is that Amelia Andrews, she’s the author, is going to come in and take a look at you. If you meet her ‘standards’.” He makes sure the air quotes are apparent. “We’ll have you pose for the cover. You probably don’t have an agent.”

“I don’t actually do this professionally, so no.”

“You’ll get a flat fee. No share of the book royalties, even if you’re the reason they buy it. Natasha has a contract you can use for today that’ll cover this one session. You can take it to your lawyer before you sign anything concrete, but you might want to get an agent.”

“I don’t do this professionally.”

“Okay.” Steve shrugs and grabs his camera. “You mind if I get some shots?”

“No? Should I… I don’t know. Do something?”

Steve starts moving around him with the camera, focusing on specific body parts as well as full body shots. He has to keep reminding himself they’re for work and _not_ for his personal collection, even though he knows he’s not going to forget them, especially given that he’s been reliving that night, nightly, for the past month.

“Okay.” Natasha walks in, contract in hand. “Read this over and sign it, unless you’re not okay with something. Then we’ll talk about what today will entail.”

Bucky reads through it, nods, and takes the pen from Natasha. He signs then gives both the paper and pen back. “Okay. What next?”

“The female model should be here soon. We’ve got the general idea of what we’re looking for, but this author is… particular. Wants a certain type, a certain look.”

“And I fit the bill?”

“As weird as it sounds, this wasn’t a way to get Rogers back on your radar.”

“Natasha!” She looks at Steve and shrugs, and it’s clear she’s not even remotely sorry.

“I can say that honestly, because I just found out about you today, which Steve still owes me an explanation for.”

Steve’s voice drops low with warning. “Nat.”

“Of course, given that you ghosted him, I guess he’s excused. Anyway. Amelia’s going to show up. She looks harmless. She’s not. Think Cruella De Vil with a better make-up artist. We’re pretty sure she has a ghostwriter, but we can’t prove it. Anyway, even with warnings, she has a tendency to try to get handsy.”

“And the publishing company won’t stop her.”

“If I flash my page and tell her it’s sexual harassment?”

“She’ll probably think we hired a stripper.”

“Strippers don’t have chest hair.” Steve looks up to find Natasha and Bucky looking at him with varying degrees of amusement “Uh. Sorry.”

Bucky smiles and Steve remembers the look in his eye. Vividly. It takes a lot of willpower not to shiver.

“Nat? Steve?” Their female model walks in and waves to both of them. She’s got thick black hair that falls in waves all the way to the small of her back. She stops when she sees Bucky. “You never said you were hiring someone with bigger tits than me.”

“Megan, this is Bucky.” Natasha nods toward Bucky. “He’s taking Richard’s place for us today.” 

“Thank god. I’m assuming he’s less of an asshole? Given that it’s almost impossible for anyone to be more of one.” She walks over and holds her hand out. “Megan Capshaw.”

“Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you.”

“I figured I should know your name if you’re going to put me in a compromising position. You work in house? Because I’m sure my agency would be willing to pay you three times what these guys can. No offense.”

“None taken.” Natasha takes the camera from Steve so he can go over to his easel. “There’s no way we can compete with the big names, which is why Stark takes pity on us.” Her smile isn’t quite friendly, which Megan seems to catch onto at least. 

“Right. Pretty boy is off limits.” She salutes Natasha. “I’ll keep my hands off.”

“DArlings!” The studio door swings open and Amelia comes in, arms spread. Cruella De Vil is actually the best way to describe her. Her hair is perfectly styled, her clothing impeccable, her makeup flawless. “Megan, sweet. Rich - oh, may. Who is this?”

“Well, we knew you were hoping for Richard,” Natasha starts, but Amelia cuts her off with a sharp wave of her hand. 

“Nonsense. I’m always happy to have new blood on my covers.” She moves over to Bucky and puts her hand on his bicep, squeezing lightly. “Oh my, indeed.”

“Bucky,” Natasha sighs, a forced smile on her face. “Amelia Andrews.”

“Oh, he’s perfect.” She spreads her hands over Bucky’s chest, not quite touching him. Her hands constrict around his pecs like she fully intends to take them and squeeze them. Steve can feel a growl of something - protectiveness? Jealousy? - flare up, and he clears his throat to hide it. “Where _did_ you find this one?”

“He’s a friend doing us a favor. Not for sale.”

“Pity.” She runs a finger down Bucky’s sternum. “I could do a whole series about this one. Maybe I will. What do you say, Bucky, darling? How would you like to have millions of women fantasizing about having sex with you.”

“Well, ma’am,” Bucky’s voice takes on an ‘aw, shucks’ quality that makes Steve raise his eyes. “I don’t really care about that. How many of your male readers do you think might be doing the fantasizing?”

“Oh.” She drops her hands like she’s been burnt and steps away. “It’s always the pretty ones.” She turns to Natasha and Steve. “You read the pages? You read what I’m looking for?”

“As always, Amelia.” Natasha nods to Bucky and Megan. “Next to each other, please. Let us get a height comparison.”

The next hour goes by quickly as Steve gets absorbed in the quick drawing, making sure the figures are right. He’ll fill in faces and features later, but he likes to do this live, get a feel for the dynamic. Bucky seems to be having fun, making Natasha and Megan both laugh. 

“All right.” Natasha finally calls the break. “Amelia? Anything else?”

“You don’t think it’ll show, do you?” She gives Steve a sideways glance, nearly imperceptible, except he knew to be looking for it. 

“You hit on him,” Steve reminds her. “And I would think that you, of all people, would have a honed sense of someone’s sexuality. I’m sure if he could fool you, I can make sure he fools your readers.”

“I’m fine with doing covers with another guy too,” Bucky shrugs and smiles brightly at Amelia. “If you ever to decide to write erotic fiction with two men as the protagonists. Or a threesome. I’d probably be okay with that.”

“Are we done, Ms. Romanov?”

“Of course.” Natasha takes Amelia’s elbow and guides her out to the main office. 

Megan runs her fingers through her hair and looks Bucky over. “I don’t suppose any of that was for her benefit, hmm?”

“The gay part or the threesome part?”

“Well, my girlfriend wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m sort of seeing someone right now.”

“Ah, well. Can’t blame a girl for trying. Nice to meet you, Bucky. Good to see you STeve.”

After the door shut behind Megan, Bucky walked over and sat on the stool near Steve. “I didn’t actually know this was a career.”

“It wasn't my first choice, but Nat and I are making a go of it. We get a lot of work farmed out to us by some of the bigger companies like Stark Publishing. They still like their covers done on paper first. The real person touch, as Tony likes to call it.”

“Huh.” He gets off the stool and moves closer. “Can I see?”

“Well, it’s really rough. I’ll use the pictures for a lot of it. Most of this first step is just for Nat to do that. I just like to watch the process. Sometimes you can see something between people that sparks, gives me some idea or thought, something I want to work into it.”

He swallows as Bucky walks behind him, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He presses against Steve’s back as he looks at the drawing in front of them. “If that’s a rough draft, I have to wonder why you’re doing this instead of showing your stuff in a gallery. This is pretty amazing.”

She shrugs, but not enough to dislodge Bucky’s hand. “You don’t know much about art, but you know what you like?”

“No, I’m just a narcissist who likes looking at pictures of myself.” He laughs then, though his hand stays on Steve’s shoulder, the heat of his body moves away. Then his breath brushes at Steve’s ear. “”I’m glad you called.”

“Y-yeah?” Steve doesn’t turn around, and he holds his muscles taut so he won’t shiver. He can’t help the goosebumps that Bucky’s voice gives him. “Why’s that?”

“Because I had a case come up and, being a partner down, I had to work it mostly on my own with some other folks helping. And then, by the time I had a chance to text or call, it felt like it was too late.” He leans in, tilting his head, his nose nuzzline at Steve’s throat before he presses a soft kiss on his jawline. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“Sex like that’s pretty hard to forget.” His breath falls on the hollow behind Steve’s ear right before Bucky’s teeth nip at his earlobe. He sucks it into his mouth then pulls back, teeth tugging on it lightly as he pulls back. “You’re pretty hard to forget.”

“What does… Um. What does that mean?”

Natasha clears her throat and they both look up at her. Steve’s blush burns as it spreads across his cheeks. “It means he’s asking you out on a date like a gentleman.”

“Actually it meant I wanted to take him home and wreck him again.” Bucky smiles at her then looks down at Steve, his smile softening. “But a date is definitely doable.”

“Can. Um. Can we do the wrecking again first?”

Natasha snorts. “Jesus Christ, Rogers.”

“That can be arranged. In fact, it will be very much my pleasure.”


End file.
